


Scarlet Welly Boots

by CasuallyScreaming



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Death, Ghosts, Gore, M/M, Major character death but the character is still in the story afterwards, Pining, Relationship nonestablished, Violence, rated teen just because of death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23625904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasuallyScreaming/pseuds/CasuallyScreaming
Summary: This is a fic based on The Amazing Devil's "Welly Boots." There will be tons of references and song lyrics and things like that in this fic.---Geralt turned on his heel and made eye contact with Jaskier at the exact moment the gravehag managed to dig a claw right into Jaskier’s chest.Ciri screamed. The monster was thrown off of him again.It hurt. Jaskier lost all the fight left in him almost immediately. His vision blurred. He heard the sound of Geralt shouting, and Jaskier wondered if Geralt had ever sounded so furious before. The battle sounded like it ended quickly. It felt like forever.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 58





	Scarlet Welly Boots

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! I'm super excited to be exploring this idea I've been thinking about for a few days. This song has so much potential for a fic like this!! Come scream about my ideas with me @CasuallyScreaming on Tumblr!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Stay safe everyone!

There was a storm on the horizon.

That was all Jaskier could focus on. He kept his lute in its case, worried about the humidity ruining it. It was sticky and hot, uncomfortable for walking in. He couldn’t imagine how Geralt was feeling in all of his armor. It surely wasn’t great. If the look on his face was anything to go by, he would much rather be anywhere else than walking to a town to collect a contract.

Ciri wasn’t looking much better. Her hair was braided, but pieces had escaped and clung to her skin that was slick with sweat. The hood she wore kept her identity a secret, but it certainly didn’t keep her state of cleanliness a secret. She smelled like sweat. Jaskier assumed they all did, so he certainly wasn’t going to comment on it. He  _ was  _ the reason she was currently riding Roach, though, so even if he did mention it, he should be given a pass. It was only fair.

“Look at her Geralt, she’s going to get heatstroke,” Jaskier had argued.

“I’m fine,” Ciri protested.

“She’s fine,” Geralt agreed.

Ciri stumbled over nothing suddenly, swaying a little. She looked up and met two blank stares.

“I’m fine,” Ciri repeated, looking irritated.

“Get on the horse,” Geralt sighed, equally irritated.

That was two hours ago. Ciri was definitely looking better, though not smelling it, but Geralt was looking grumpier by the minute. He was probably the stinkiest of the trio. At least, that’s what Jaskier hoped. He didn’t know if he could stand being the smelliest person out of a child and a Witcher. His reputation would surely be smeared beyond recognition, and he would never get another performance opportunity again. 

Walking in silence was killing Jaskier, but unwilling to risk his lute, all he had to offer was his voice, and he was at a loss for words for once. There wasn’t much to talk about besides what they were avoiding discussing. The soldiers they were on the run from, Ciri’s training, all of it. Jaskier had so many questions that he would probably never get answers to. Geralt had already found Ciri by the time they reunited and exchanged apologies. Beyond meeting Ciri and being told about the soldiers and Cintra, he wasn’t told anything else. It was infuriating. He wanted to ask, but he had a feeling that wouldn’t go very well. It was obviously a very touchy subject for the both of them, for obvious reasons. Ciri was still grieving, although she was fairly good at hiding it. 

Geralt just seemed to be terrified. Jaskier doubted anyone else could tell, but Geralt was clearly doubting himself. His abilities to protect Ciri, to be a good father, all of it. After apologizing, Geralt asked Jaskier to accompany them on their travels. In hushed tones, away from Ciri’s ears, he admitted that he had no idea what raising a child entailed.

“Much less...a girl,” Geralt had said, pursing his lips into a thin line. “I can’t do it on my own.”

Jaskier wanted to argue with him then and there, to assure him that he was definitely capable of doing it on his own, but Ciri walked in at that moment and asked what the next plan was.

“Yes Geralt, I would love to know where we’re going next,” Jaskier said with a grin. Ciri’s eyes widened happily, but Jaskier almost missed it, too caught up in the small smile Geralt was giving him. He looked relieved. 

That was the last time he had seen that look on Geralt’s face. Lately, it was nothing but worry and tension. At night, Jaskier would look at Geralt’s face while he slept just to catch a glimpse of it smooth and peaceful, as if he would never have the chance otherwise. There were a few moments, like during card games with Ciri, that Geralt let his guard down. But they were very few and far between. Jaskier was beginning to feel like the fun uncle of their little ensemble, and he was enjoying his role. When Geralt was taking a contract, Jaskier would allow Ciri to have just a few sips of ale. He could tell by the look on her face that she didn’t care for the ale itself, but wanted what it represented. The idea of being an adult, maybe. Maybe freedom. Most likely, the feeling of rebelling against Geralt in a small way, a safe way, but still a rebellion nonetheless. 

It was easy to forget Ciri was just a child, sometimes.

  
  
  


They got to the town that evening. 

The first thing Jaskier wanted to do was book them a bath, but the amount of people in the inn took him by surprise. He pulled Ciri a little closer as he walked to the front of the inn. He managed to secure the last room in the inn, and as he paid, Ciri leaned forward.

“What  _ happened _ ?” She whispered, sounding very conspiratorial. Jaskier leaned down to meet her level. 

“Maybe it’s a monster,” he said. “A monster that’s going to eat you.” He booped Ciri’s nose, and she giggled. 

“Geralt wouldn’t let a monster eat me,” she said. “Neither would you. You would annoy it to death with bad jokes.”

Jaskier feigned being wounded, holding a hand to his chest. “Ciri! You must have inherited Geralt’s rude comments, and that just won’t do!” 

Ciri giggled again. The door to the inn opened suddenly, and Geralt walked in. He didn’t seem surprised by the number of people, but he certainly didn’t look pleased by it, and immediately met with Jaskier and Ciri. 

“A room?” He asked, ever so eloquent.

Jaskier nodded. “We got the last room in the inn. Honestly, this doesn’t seem like the kind of inn that would get this much business. What’s going on?”

“Not sure,” Geralt shrugged. “Stuff upstairs, then I’ll ask around. Maybe it’s a contract.”

“At any rate, it’s a chance for Jaskier to play,” Ciri piped up. “I love when he plays and this is such a big crowd, they must need some kind of cheering up.”

Jaskier beamed. Geralt groaned. “You’re going to inflate his ego,” he said, making his way upstairs.

Jaskier and Ciri followed.

“She’s just speaking the truth, Geralt,” Jaskier said as he ruffled her hair through her hood.

Ciri proved to be right. Jaskier performed that evening as Geralt spoke to the innkeeper to learn about what was ailing the town and causing the influx of patrons. Ciri sat in the corner, always within eyesight of Jaskier and Geralt, and ate her dinner as she watched Jaskier play. The audience was very generous with their coin, and Jaskier was thriving on the attention. 

“Alright audience, I only have one song left!” He declared after two hours of playing. “Give me your requests, and if others agree, I shall make it my final song to you!”

The audience requested  _ Toss a Coin, _ just as Jaskier knew they would. What could he say, it was a fan favorite. He had done the song well. He finished the song, collected his coin, and drank in the applause for a while before joining Ciri and Geralt at their table. Geralt pushed a cup of ale and a bowl of stew towards him, which he dug into immediately. Performing takes a lot of energy, and Jaskier would never say no to a warm meal that wasn’t cooked by Geralt in the forest. Geralt knew how to cook, but it would never compare to seasoned foods like this.

“What’s the verdict?” Jaskier asked between bites of food.

“Gravehag,” Geralt said. “Should be simple enough. You two are coming with me.”

Jaskier nearly choked on his food as he sucked in a gasp, and Ciri grinned.

“Why is it that every time I ask to go, you say no, but now you’re just dragging me to a battle all willy-nilly?” 

Geralt shot him a pointed look. “You always ask to come to the most dangerous ones. Gravehags are loners, I can handle a single one as long as you and Ciri stay where I tell you. It will be a good learning experience for Ciri. She needs to see what to look out for when searching for one.” 

Geralt hesitated for a moment, and continued. 

“I don’t like how many people are here,” he said. “Makes it hard to smell anyone...untrustworthy.”

Jaskier nodded. “Well, it’s a good thing I’ve got a new pair of boots! They’ll hold up to the rain quite nicely, I think. Plus they’re an exquisite scarlet color, if I do say so myself.”

“You do,” Geralt and Ciri said in unison. Geralt smiled wryly and Ciri giggled as Jaskier gasped indignantly.

“Finish eating,” Geralt commanded. “We have to hunt it at night. We leave as soon as you finish.”

Jaskier grumbled to himself, but he kept eating anyway, just excited to be able to go on an adventure. The song that could be composed out of this one, with Jaskier there to see all of the details himself, had great potential. 

He was already thinking of words to rhyme with “gravehag” as they walked towards Roach.

  
  
  


The graveyard seemed quiet and unassuming, as most do. Geralt was pointing out signs of a gravehag to Ciri while Jaskier pointed out the flowers he liked on the graves and their poetic meaning.

“Jaskier,” Geralt warned.

“Come now, Geralt! She needs an education in poetry and prose just as much as all of the Witcher stuff.” 

Jaskier pointed to a bundle of dandelions on one grave. “My name means dandelion, you know,” he told her. “In flower language, they represent healing from pain.”

“What are those?” Ciri asked, ignoring whatever it was Geralt was trying to tell her. Geralt groaned and stalked off towards the gravehag’s house. 

“Stay here!” He called gruffly over his shoulder.

“Those are buttercups,” Jaskier said. “They’re my favorite. A lot of places see them as weeds, but many people believe them to mean brightness and light.”

Ciri hummed. “Just like you,” she said. “No wonder Geralt calls you Buttercup.”

Jaskier spluttered. “He  _ what? _ ”

Ciri nodded. “When he thinks no one can hear him. I think it’s because some people find you annoying because you’re a bard, but a lot of people like me and Geralt love you.”

Jaskier was sure his face was as red as his boots. “Well, that’s, um, very nice, Ciri. Thank you.” Jaskier cleared his throat. “I love you guys too.”

Ciri looked up at him with a smile on her face. Jaskier returned it. He was wondering how to process the new information he had when Ciri’s expression suddenly twisted into horror. 

Jaskier whipped around to see a gravehag behind them. 

Without thinking, he turned and wrapped an arm around Ciri. He didn’t have time to stand and run, so he threw her as hard as he could instead. She landed only a few feet away, sliding to a stop. It was more of a shove than a toss, and Jaskier cursed the lack of strength he had before the gravehag descended on him.

Jaskier was vaguely aware of Ciri screaming Geralt’s name, but he was too focused on getting the monster off of him. He was terrified, his heart pounding in his chest, and it was all he could do to keep the foul thing far enough away to stay out of its reach. His strength wouldn’t last forever. His arms were already shaking with the exertion. 

He shouted Geralt’s name right before his arms gave out.

And then, Ciri screamed. 

Jaskier had never been in the presence of one of her screams. Controlling it was one of the things Yennefer was trying to teach her. Jaskier suddenly understood why she needed the control. The force ripped the gravehag off of him and flung it back a few feet. He scrambled to his feet and turned to look where Geralt was battling another one. 

_ Two? _ That didn’t make sense, Geralt said they were loners. It should be impossible for two of them to be in the same place. 

Geralt glanced back at him. Jaskier gave him a panicked thumbs up. 

“I got it,” he yelled. “Worry about yours!”

Geralt looked uncertain, but the gravehag took another swipe, and his attention was once again diverted. Jaskier looked back towards his own monster, which was just beginning to stand up again.

“Ciri,” he commanded, “Run and wait with Roach, she’s far enough away. I’ll distract this one.”

“No!” Ciri cried, “I can help, I can fight!”

“Go!” Jaskier shouted as the gravehag started moving towards him again. They were faster than he had assumed, and his dagger was out of reach. It must have fallen out of its hilt at his belt when the gravehag jumped him. Or maybe it fell out when Ciri screamed.

Jaskier braced himself for impact. He had nothing on him to fight with, but maybe he could just keep it away from his vital organs long enough for Geralt to finish off the other one.

The monster rushed towards Jaskier, but changed course at the last second. Jaskier was moving before he knew he was, knowing exactly where the beast was heading. Straight for Ciri. Jaskier yelled and threw himself on top of the gravehag. He rolled around with it for just a bit, shoving at hands and jaws to keep them away from him, but unwilling to let go of his grip and allow it to get to Ciri.

His head was somehow forced to the side.

He saw Ciri, looking horrified. He never wanted to see that look on Ciri’s face again.

His gaze jerked to Geralt. He watched as Geralt finally delivered the killing blow to the other gravehag. It filled him with a sense of victory and pride.

Geralt turned on his heel and made eye contact with Jaskier at the exact moment the gravehag managed to dig a claw right into Jaskier’s chest.

Ciri screamed. The monster was thrown off of him again.

It  _ hurt. _ Jaskier lost all the fight left in him almost immediately. His vision blurred. He heard the sound of Geralt shouting, and Jaskier wondered if Geralt had ever sounded so furious before. The battle sounded like it ended quickly. It felt like forever. 

_ Me and Geralt love you, _ Ciri had said. 

There was a presence at his side, and his vision cleared up enough to see Geralt’s face for just a moment. He looked so  _ broken.  _ Jaskier had never seen that look on Geralt’s face before.

“Jaskier, I can’t, I don’t know, I’m sorry,” Geralt rambled. His words were faster than Jaskier ever heard them, and with the way his head was hurting, it was difficult to understand.

A second presence. Ciri. 

“Don’t look,” Jaskier muttered. “Ciri, look at my face, not my chest.” 

Jaskier had no idea whether or not Ciri obeyed because his vision was beginning to go out. 

“ _ Jaskier, _ ” Geralt choked out, sounding almost like a sob. 

Ciri stayed silent. Maybe Jaskier couldn’t hear her, or maybe she was too shocked to say anything.

“Geralt, do...do you call me Buttercup?” Jaskier choked out. He could feel the blood in the back of his throat. He wanted to fight the urge to cough, but it was so strong and he was just so  _ weak. _

Geralt actually laughed a little, choked and wet. “Yes,” he said. “Ciri told you.”

Jaskier didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything. He squeezed his hand, only to find Geralt’s in his. He didn’t remember Geralt grabbing his hand, but somehow, he knew it would be there.

Jaskier fell into blackness as he thought about buttercups.

  
  
  


Jaskier woke up to see nothing but the night sky. He blinked a few times. He took in a few breaths, surprised to find they didn’t hurt. Geralt must have used a potion of some sort to save him, he thought. Then he became aware of the sound of crying. It was Ciri. She was sobbing uncontrollably. He heard Geralt whispering a litany of apologies, over and over again. He couldn’t tell if he was apologizing to Jaskier or to Ciri.

He stayed still, feeling his body instead. It felt fine. No wound, not even a scar. So why did they still sound so distraught? 

Jaskier sat up. He expected them to at least spare him a glance, but they ignored him completely. Geralt had Ciri wrapped up in his arms, his chin on her head. He looked like he was trying desperately to keep it together as his apologies continued. Jaskier felt like he had the breath knocked out of him. He had never seen Geralt like this before. His eyes were wide with panic, and he was actually  _ crying, _ albeit silently. He was rocking back and forth slightly, but Jaskier wasn’t sure if it was for Ciri’s sake or his own. 

“ _ I’m sorry,”  _ he muttered, “ _ I’m sorry, I didn’t know there were two, it should have been impossible, you should have stayed, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I was too slow, I’m sorry.” _

The whispered apologies kept flooding off of him in waves, and Jaskier felt as though he couldn’t move, worried that any sudden movement would break the tension in the two and cause them to break down even further, somehow. Ciri was absolutely  _ howling _ with grief, and Jaskier had a sense she was on the verge of hyperventilating.

“It’s okay,” he said, reaching out to her. “I’m okay Ciri, don’t worry, it’s okay.”

His hand touched her shoulder, but she completely ignored it. Jasker furrowed his brows. Sure, watching someone you love nearly die was a terrible thing, but you would think they’d be at least a little glad to see him up and moving.

Jaskier glanced down to stand and screamed. He jumped up quickly, scurrying to get out of the corpse he had been sitting in. How did he not  _ notice _ it sooner? He breathed heavily, looking at Ciri and Geralt, and then turned back to the corpse.

His breath caught in his throat.

It was  _ his  _ corpse. Jaskier was laying on the ground, pale and bloodied and his favorite doublet torn open, along with his chest. His stomach heaved and he looked away, but he didn’t vomit. Oh. Oh. That’s why Geralt and Ciri are so upset. Oh. He’s dead. Shit. He died. Fuck, he’s gone. 

Except he isn’t gone, is he? He’s still here, a ghost. Why? What is he supposed to do?

“Geralt,” he tried, “Listen to me, I’m right here!” 

Geralt didn’t cease his tirade of guilt. Jaskier huffed, feeling panic creeping in.

“Geralt, please, listen! I’m here, it’s okay, please, I need you to hear me!” Jaskier didn’t care about his dignity as he begged for Geralt’s attention. Geralt didn’t give it. Instead, he continued to apologize.

“I don’t want you to be sorry, I want you to  _ listen!” _ Jaskier yelled. He slapped his hand against Geralt’s cheek. He had expected it to release his anger, but it did more than that. Geralt went silent and perfectly still. Ciri was still crying. Geralt looked shocked. Jaskier watched as Geralt took in the scene before him, looking more like the Geralt that Jaskier was used to. He shushed Ciri, comforting her, smoothing down her hair.Once Ciri was calm, he instructed her to go wait by Roach. She obeyed silently. 

Geralt began patting Jaskier down, and the strangeness of it managed to derail all of Jaskier’s other emotions. He was honestly a bit offended that Geralt was trying to loot his corpse. Jaskier hadn’t brought anything with him to the graveyard except for his dagger and, apparently, a single pick for a lute. Jaskier never liked using picks, but he kept one on him just in case he ever changed his mind one day. It looked like he would never get that chance. 

Geralt pocketed the pick and searched for the dagger. When he found it, he pocketed that, too. 

The thunderstorm finally started, and Jaskier found himself being thankful that his loot was inside the inn before realizing that he couldn’t play it anyway. Geralt took his raincoat off and covered Jaskier’s body with it. Geralt was going to get soaked to the bone, Jaskier vaguely realized. He numbly followed as Geralt took his body and laid it across Roach’s back. Geralt sat behind it, Ciri behind him, and they made their way in the direction opposite of the town.

It all seemed like too much. He can’t think straight. He doesn’t know what to do. 

Jaskier sat on top of his own body, in front of Geralt on Roach, and stared dumbly at his own hands, thinking about the last song he ever played and the person it was about.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to leave a kudos and a comment and let me know what you think so far! I'm super excited for where it's going and all the character development that gets to happen! 
> 
> Find me @CasuallyScreaming on Tumblr!


End file.
